Hitman: Anthology
by craigbond007
Summary: My small collection of Hitman stories. Note: Hitman: Nika is not included because it's a one off about the film. Future fics will go here. Planning to do a crossover with James Bond. Update soon.
1. Stirrings

At the dawn of the 21st century, nobody would have thought that human cloning would be possible.

But it has been said that a man walks this earth, with the power to strike down evil, wherever it may hide.

A man who is known only as an urban legend.

His name is only a whisper on the lips of the dead.

Only his employers know him, by his only name, 47. And they trust him as he trusts them

47 kills without mercy, without morality, without question.

But only for a price….

Anything between 47 and his target goes down.

47 is a class one cloned human being.

Engineered from darkness.

Protected by divinity.

Bred from the world's deadliest criminals.

Skilled in the art of killing, in any form of weapon.

Hidden by the veil of disguise.

Brilliant in his execution.

But what happens when a 47 is sent to kill his only friend?

HITMAN 

STIRRINGS

PT I…………………….. The Contract…. Signed In Blood

47 turned on his laptop. He was expecting an e-mail from his handler in the agency,

Diana. She always gave him a briefing for his next hit.

It was there, as usual. But today this wasn't just an ordinary assassination.

"Hello, Agent 47," it read. "We have yet another important assignment for you to carry out.

I can't help but think you'll be shocked. Your target is your old friend, Father Vittorio.

He's still running the old Gontranno Sanctuary in Sicily. I'm sorry to have to tell you this,

but he knows too much about you."

47 then mulled over the minor details, as if he needed them. He knew his way around the

sanctuary, being a gardener there once.

All the assassin needed was the price: $ 500,000, already transferred to his account.

But sometimes money can't soothe the unfamiliar pain 47 is feeling.

"Kill the padre?" His conscience thought. "Yes," his killer instinct answered.

"But he's you're friend!" Conscience pleaded.

"So stop me… it's my job…"

"We'll see about that…"

PT II Death at Gontranno

47 walked up the steps of the all too familiar sanctuary, looking for his long lost friend,

soon to be dead. Back when 47 was living here, he went by the alias "Tobias Rieper,"

so, it wouldn't be a surprise if the padre referred to him as such. The hitman walked

through the aisle in the church, down toward the confessional, where the padre was

finishing listening to a man confess his sins. 47 then entered the booth.

"Forgive me, father, for I have sinned."

"Tobias, my son! I knew it was you! What brings you back to the sanctuary?"

"Padre, I'm… thinking of working here again... Can we talk somewhere private?"

"Of course, my son. As soon as I'm finished here, meet in the old garden shed."

"I'll be waiting there, padre."

PT III Bulletway to Heaven

47 was sitting on his old bed in the garden shed. He remembered all his nightmares and

dreams he had on this bed. He sat and sat, but remembered that his gun was empty. He

took the chrome AMT Hardballer pistol, pulled the slide back, and loaded a lone .45 bullet

into it's chamber. He then screwed it's cylinder shaped silencer into place.

"So this is how a friendship ends…." He thought.

His conscience was still there to bug him. "You don't have to do this!"

"Yes I do. This is just a hit, money already paid, I'm not gonna screw this one up."

"You can quit and live here forever!"

"Shut up!"

A knock at the door cut off the hitman's thoughts. It was Father Vittorio.

"Come in, padre," 47 said.

"Hello, my son! So, you want to care for my garden again at last?" Vittorio asked.

"Not exactly," 47 said. He got up, threw Vittorio to the floor, and locked the door, with his

silenced Hardballer trained at the priest's head.

"Forgive me, father, for I must sin once again to keep my sins a secret!" 47 prayed.

"No!" Vittorio screamed. A short, sharp pop emitted from the end of the silver cylinder,

giving the padre another eye, one between his real eyes, but it was a black abyss, leaking

red tears in a final cry.

47 left the church and checked into the nearest hotel. He sat on the bed and pulled out

his cell phone, dialing the agency.

"The job's been done," he said, and hung up.

He rubbed his eyes, and his fingers were wet. He knew well what this was, for most people

he killed had done the same thing, usually from fear.

Or sadness.

For the first time, 47 had shed tears…


	2. Hand of God

Author's message: Please show support to Cancer patients and donate to find a cure.

HITMAN

_**HAND OF GOD**_

_**Sequel to Stirrings**_

What is God?

Or, to rephrase the question, what is it like to be God?

To giveth….

And taketh away….

Of course, one man knows it all….

To protect someone on a mission….

And kill another on said mission….

.……. ………………………..….One might say he is the hands of the lord……………………………………………

Another lovely day, to be taken for granted, knowing he could be killed any minute, of every hour of every day.

Agent 47 took it in. The hot sun glaring off the hitman's bald head was sure to give a tan if he sat there any longer, not

to mention the heat of his expensive Italian suit he ALWAYS wore, he loosened his tie and undid the top button on his

dress shirt to let some air in. He moved over to a bench under a pine tree in Central Park, New York City. He was

enjoying some time off in the Big Apple, expecting another message from Diana. He watched silently as children

played, and dogs fetched Frisbees, until he felt something vibrate in his pocket. He pulled his cellphone out of his

pocket, and answered. "47," he said. "Hello, 47, Diana here. I have another contract for you. His name is

Mr. James C. Miller, a televangelist from northern Canada, visiting New York for a Christianity seminar at Madison

Square Garden. It seems Mr. Miller has been caught up in work involving our agency, and is looking for more info on

"the urban legend," or in easier terms, you. We cannot let this happen. If he finds out who you are, you and the agency

will be compromised. ""So," 47 said, "another hit sanctioned by the agency, and not by a client, I hope it's the last,

first, Padre Vittorio, and now another religious televangelist, seems like I was made to send the message of God." " I'm

sorry if this agency is causing you grief, 47, but it is of most importance," Diana replied. "I understand. Has my fee

been transferred?" 47 asked.

"Yes, and I've sent you more info on the hit to your cell. Good luck, 47, and stay safe."

"I intend to."

47 hung up, and pressed his text message button, and checked his mail.

Jonathan Clarence Miller

Profession: Religious televangelist.

Briefing: Miller has learned rumours of the International Contract Agency, and of one of our top hitmen, Mr. 47.

If this information gets out it could destroy the ICA forever. Intends to hide his revelations of his discoveries in a

religious message about "hands of god".

Threat Level: Low

Security: Two ARMED gunmen, usually carrying 9mm Walther P99 pistols. Minimal discretion is required.

CASH BOUNTY: $1 000 000 U.S. DOLLARS.

Intel

1. Miller's guards DO NOT patrol west wing of auditorium

2. There is a light control room on the top floor of the west wing

3. Best option would be a quick sniper routine.

47 entered Madison Square Garden with ease. His favourite rifle, the Walther WA2000, was packed in his foil-

padded case, going through Garden security metal detectors without suspicion. He made his way to an elevator and

pressed the button for the top floor. Inside with him was a bald young man, 20's , 47 suspected. "Hello," the man said.

"You wouldn't happen to be a chemotherapy patient, would you?" the man asked. "No, natural baldness," 47 replied.

The elevator got to the top floor. "Excuse me, I get off here,"47 said. "Good evening."

It didn't take 47 long to reach the light control room, and, surprisingly, no hassle. He unpacked the WA2000,

and assembled it and loaded the clip. As he took aim, Miller was on stage and his speech began. "Hello, everyone. I am

John Miller, and I'm here to talk to you about a dark and unholy presence on this earth. It seems, there are people out

there, who are the sons of Satan, but serving both the devil and the lord. Yes, brothers and sisters, they are a reality and

they are among us…"

A soft crack interrupted the speech. Miller went down in an instant, as if he went before the bullet hit. But it

surely did. There was a hole in the throat of the man lying there, and a crimson pool slowly filling. Yet everyone was

calm, no screaming, no rushing to the exit, just jaws agape at the sight of the blood.

The hitman left. The job was done.

It was good being the hand of God….


End file.
